Rhyme and Reason
by CottageGhost
Summary: Jonathan's latest school project makes for interesting before dinner conversation...


**__**

I would like to acknowledge the poets quoted in this piece: Lord Byron, for _She Walks in Beauty_, W.H. Auden, for _Tell Me the Truth about Love_, Thomas Woolner, for _My Beautiful Lady_, and of course, the Bard himself, for his sonnet and for having said it all.

**__**

**_Rhyme and Reason_**

            The sound of car doors slamming shut brought Carolyn back to the here and now. She had been working all afternoon on the Captain's memoirs, busily proofreading and fine-tuning the latest chapter. She had been so engrossed in the project that she had become totally oblivious to the passage of time. She shook her head ruefully; twenty-four hours in a day was getting decidedly too short!

            Her musings were interrupted by the children bursting through the door, Candy leading the way. The little girl ran to her mother, enveloping her in a hug and depositing a quick kiss on her cheek. "Hi, Mom!" she said with a toothy grin, throwing herself on the couch next to Carolyn.

            "Hi, honey!" Carolyn answered back, smiling at her daughter's obvious good humour. Her smile faltered somewhat as she turned to greet Jonathan, who came in with a frown on his face, all but dragging his schoolbag behind him. She watched as he plopped himself on the couch facing her, a disgruntled look on his face. "Blast," he muttered, bracing his elbows on his knees, propping his chin on his hands.

            Carolyn's lips twitched. She really would have to talk to the Captain about Jonathan. He was having entirely too much influence on the boy's language and manners for his own good. Well, maybe not the manners; despite herself – and very likely, Jonathan himself – her son was turning into quite the little gentleman. And while she knew she had a hand in that, she had to admit (if only to herself) that Captain Gregg had a lot more to do with it. Still, the language issue would have to be addressed – the sooner, the better.

            "What's wrong, darling?" Carolyn asked, deciding to tackle the more obvious problem for now.

            Before Jonathan even had time to lift his head, Candy jumped in. "Oh, he's just mopping because he has to do that poetry project."

            "I'm not mopping!" Jonathan protested, glaring at his sister.

            Candy was unimpressed. "You are, too! Sheesh, Jonathan, it's not the end of the world," she continued, rolling her eyes. "It's just a project! I did it last year, and I'm still here," she finished, her hands on her hips.

            "Yeah, well, you're a girl, that's why! You're supposed to like this sort of thing!"

            Candy threw her hands up. "Oh, puuulease! Grow up, why don't you!

            "Hey! Mom!"

            Carolyn held up her hands, trying to forestall an all-out war. "Okay, okay, okay. Enough, you two. Candy, why don't you go start on your homework while I try to help Jonathan with this?"

            "Oh, all right," Candy said resignedly, grabbing her books and making for the stairwell, all the while muttering about little brothers and their quirks.

            Amused but trying not to show it, Carolyn shook her head at her daughter's retreating back before turning to her son. She called to him to get his attention, then patted the couch next to her. Jonathan heaved a sigh, then dragged himself off his perch, making his way to his mother. He sat next to her, leaning against her, resting his head on her shoulder.

She dropped a quick kiss on top of his head. "All right. Now, how about you tell me what this is all about?" she asked softly as she played gently with the boy's hair.

Jonathan heaved another sigh. "Our English teacher said that on top of having to recite a poem we had chosen, we had to write one too!" the boy said indignantly, as if it were beneath his dignity to do such a thing. He shook his head disgustedly. "Who cares about poetry, anyway? It's sissy stuff."

"Sissy stuff? Poetry? Oh, lad, you couldn't be more wrong!" Captain Gregg appeared, leaning casually, as was his wont, against the fireplace mantle.

Jonathan just gaped at his hero, looking like he had just been betrayed. "But, Captain! It's just boring old stuff! Nobody likes it!"

The Captain drew himself up. "I do."

Jonathan's jaw dropped. "You do? Really?"

"Aye."

"Why?" the boy asked, utterly puzzled.

The Captain looked to Carolyn for support, only to find her looking at him expectantly, obviously eager to see how he was going to get out of this one. Harrumphing, he sat on the couch Jonathan had just vacated, mulling over his answer. "Well… you like music, don't you?" he asked the boy.

            "Uh-huh."

"Well, poetry is like music, if you know how to speak it and how to listen to it. It has a rhythm, a flow, that makes it harmonious and pleasant to listen to. And, most importantly," the seaman continued as he fiddled with the sleeves of his turtleneck, "it is a means of sure success with the fair sex," he finished smugly.

"What does that mean?"

Another look at Carolyn told him he wasn't going to get help with that one either. He narrowed his eyes at her briefly in annoyance, then felt his lips stretching into a small smile as a thought occurred to him. _Very well, my dear. Let's see how you react to this._ "Well, it means that if you learn to choose your poems wisely, you can have a certain effect on people, especially women," the seaman answered, his eyes glinting wickedly as he levelled them at Carolyn.

She pursed her lips at him, annoyed that he had recovered so quickly from the tight spot he'd put himself in. _Must be force of habit,_ she thought to herself irritatedly. Well, she certainly wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. "That's generalizing, Captain," she answered back remonstratively.

"Is it?" he asked softly, looking at her narrowly. He sat back, then turned his attention back to Jonathan. "Poetry, my boy, should be the ultimate expression of what is in your heart and soul. It should drip off your tongue like honey, soar from your heart like an eagle, and flow from your soul like the gentlest forest spring." From the corner of his eye, the Captain could tell he had Carolyn's undivided attention. And that was definitely a sigh he had heard coming from her. His smile widened. "Let's try an experiment, shall we? Martha!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Would you kindly join us in the parlour, please?"

"Coming, Captain!" He smiled innocently at the appalled look Carolyn shot him. He leaned slightly forward, saying in a low voice, "To get telling results, one should get as many samples as possible."

Martha came in before Carolyn could give the infuriating seaman a piece of her mind. "What can I do for you, Captain?" the housekeeper asked quizzically.

"Ah, Martha! We are running a small experiment to help Jonathan understand the power and beauty of poetry. And I would like to demonstrate its effect on you and Mrs. Muir – with your permission, of course!" the Captain said, bowing to her.

Smiling and blushing like a schoolgirl, Martha nodded. "Happy to oblige, Captain!" Her smile vanished suddenly as he approached her, his blue eyes, soft and warm, peering into hers.

_She walks in beauty, like the night_

_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

_And all that's best of dark and bright_

_Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_

_Thus mellow'd to that tender light_

_Which heaven to gaudy day denies._

Martha heaved a long sigh, looking unblinkingly at the Captain. Holy mackerel, what a voice! And those eyes! No wonder every woman in sight flocked to him! She shook herself, blushing even more at her reaction. "Thank you, Captain, that was very nice," she said a trifle unsteadily. After he bowed to her one more time, she sat down on the couch, waiting for her heart to stop beating so wildly. _Forget Sean Callahan – this is poetry!_

Smiling in satisfaction at the obvious effect he had had on Martha, the Captain turned once more to Jonathan, noticing as he did so that Carolyn was looking at him rather apprehensively. He grinned. "You see what I mean? Of course, that was love poetry of a more classic kind. But some poems can be amusing, as well." Looking at the two women in turn, he quoted:

_Some say love is a little boy,_

_And some say it's a bird,_

_Some say it makes the world go around,_

_Some say that's absurd,_

_And when I asked the man next-door,_

_Who looked as if he knew,_

_His wife got very cross indeed,_

_And said it wouldn't do._

Martha chortled; Carolyn began giggling despite herself. Even Jonathan laughed. "You see? Poetry can make you laugh or cry. And sometimes – sometimes – it can make you forget the world around you even exists." Before Carolyn had a chance to recover, he launched into his next example:

_I love my lady; she is very fair;_

_Her brow is white, and bound by simple hair;_

_            Her spirit sits aloof, and high,_

_            Altho' it looks thro' her soft eye_

_            Sweetly and tenderly._

_As a young forest, when the wind drives thro',_

_My life is stirred when she breaks on my view._

_            Altho' her beauty has such power,_

_            Her soul is like the simple flower_

_            Trembling beneath a shower._

_As bliss of saints, when dreaming of large wings,_

_The bloom around her fancied presence flings,_

_            I feast and wile her absence, by_

_            Pressing her choice hand passionately –_

_            Imagining her sigh._

_My lady's voice, altho' so very mild,_

_Maketh me feel as strong wine would a child;_

_            My lady's touch, however slight,_

_            Moves all my senses with its might,_

_            Like to a sudden fright._

_A hawk poised high in air, whose nerved wing-tips_

_Tremble with might suppressed, before he dips,--_

_            In vigilance, not more intense_

_            Than I; when her word's gentle sense_

_ Makes full-eyed my suspense._

_Her mention of a thing – august or poor;_

_Makes it seem nobler than it was before:_

_            As where the sun strikes, life will gush,_

_            And what is pale receive a flush,_

_Rich hues – a richer blush._

            There was complete silence as the last syllable, spoken in the Captain's rich, velvety voice, faded like mist. Jonathan watched in awe as both Martha and his mother kept their eyes glued to the Captain, looking as if they were waiting for his permission to breathe and to move again. Then something occurred to him. "Hey! That's like the song you wrote!"

            His sudden exclamation startled the adults, breaking the spell. Carolyn and Martha both blinked as if they had been asleep, and the Captain straightened up, assuming his usual detached manner. "Aye, Jonathan. It is something similar."

            "Think I could use it to read in class?"

            That finished bringing everyone back to reality. "Uhh… I think maybe something more sedate might be preferable. I know," the seaman said, smiling at the boy, "how about a poem about the sea?"

            Jonathan's eyes grew wide. "Does that exist?"

            "Oh, yes. In fact, I have a volume or two of them you can choose from, if you like."

            Jonathan jumped off the couch to go stand by the Captain. "Boy, would I ever! Thanks, Captain!"

            "My pleasure. Come on, let's go see if we can find them. Ladies," the Captain said, bowing slightly, turning to follow the boy out of the parlour.

            The two women turned to each other, eyeing one another in silence. Then Carolyn said in a small voice, "Coffee?"

            "I think something stronger is in order," Martha answered in an equally stunned voice.

            "I've got just the thing," Carolyn said with a wicked smile as she stood up. "Don't go anywhere."

****************************

            Two weeks later, everything seemed to be all right with the world once more. Jonathan had turned in his poem and done his reading, for which he got a very good mark. Carolyn smiled as she recalled the sunny smile on her son's face this afternoon when he'd bounded into the parlour and dropped the marked paper in her lap, hugging her close in his excitement. Even Candy hadn't been able to remain impervious to his enthusiasm.

            She glanced down at that very paper, reading it over once more. It was quite good for a first try. She couldn't help smiling as she thought of the ravages her son could do when he grew older with the coaching of a certain sea captain!

            "What has brought such a lovely smile to your face, dear lady?"

            Carolyn looked up at the Captain, no longer surprised that he should appear at the very moment she was thinking of him. "Were your ears buzzing or something?"

            He eyed her quizzically. "Madam?"

            "Never mind." She showed the paper to him. "Jonathan's poem. He really did quite good with it. Did you help him, by any chance?"

            "I, Madam? All I did was help him find a poem to read in front of the class. No, this is entirely Jonathan's rhyme."

            Without taking her eyes off him, she asked softly, "What about you? What's your rhyme?"

            He looked at her in silence, pondering whether or not he should answer her question. Then, his blue eyes gazing tenderly into hers, he began to speak:

            _When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,_

_            I all alone beweep my outcast state,_

_            And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,_

_            And look upon myself and curse my fate,_

_            Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,_

_            Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,_

_            Desiring that man's art, and that man's scope,_

_            With what I most enjoy contented least;_

_            Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,_

_            Haply I think on thee, and then my state,_

_            Like to the lark at break of day arising_

_            From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;_

_                        For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings,_

_                        That then I scorn to change my state with kings._

            "That is my rhyme," he said softly, love and longing mixing in his eyes and voice. "And you're the reason I can still enjoy the magic of poetry." He bowed to her with a small smile. "I bid you goodnight, milady." And he was gone.

            Carolyn let out a small sigh, a dreamy smile on her face as she made her way to her typewriter. She had just felt her muse awaken and she intended to give it free rein. She slipped a sheet of paper into her typewriter and began typing:

**The Power of Poetry**

by

Carolyn Muir

The End


End file.
